Via: successfulflow | Credits: thoughtcatalog
It was sitting beside the curb outside my apartment. A white iPhone 4S in surprisingly good condition. I scooped it up from the ground to get a closer look. It probably belonged to a high school girl, judging by the horrendously glittering purple case.
I admired the phone anyway – tacky though the case was, it had protected its charge fairly well. The phone had not only survived what I assumed was a fall from a careless girl’s book bag, but it was in pristine condition. No hairline cracks, no dings, no dents… nothing.
It was sitting beside the curb outside my apartment. A white iPhone 4S in surprisingly good condition. I scooped it up from the ground to get a closer look. It probably belonged to a high school girl, judging by the horrendously glittering purple case.
I admired the phone anyway – tacky though the case was, it had protected its charge fairly well. The phone had not only survived what I assumed was a fall from a careless girl’s book bag, but it was in pristine condition. No hairline cracks, no dings, no dents… nothing.
It was sitting beside the curb outside my apartment. A white iPhone 4S in surprisingly good condition. I scooped it up from the ground to get a closer look. It probably belonged to a high school girl, judging by the horrendously glittering purple case. I admired the phone anyway – tacky though the case was, it had protected its charge fairly well. The phone had not only survived what I assumed was a fall from a careless girl’s book bag, but it was in pristine condition. No hairline cracks, no dings, no dents… nothing.
As I marched into my apartment, throwing my bag on the floor and shedding my coat and shoes, I continued inspecting the phone. Whoever lost it must surely be missing it. I pressed the home button and the screen lit up. A swipe right and I discovered that the phone was not, in fact, locked. Thank goodness for stupid teenage girls (ignoring, for the moment, that I used to be exactly one of those). I searched the contacts, found one labeled “Mom” and pressed the call button.
Nothing.
It was as though the touch screen hadn’t registered my fingertips. Puzzled, I pressed “call” again. And again. Nothing.
It was at that moment that I got a call on my own cell phone, a black iPhone 6. I swiped to answer and the voice of my best friend reached my ears.
“Hey, Amanda! How was your test today?”
The phone momentarily forgotten, I fell into a deep conversation with Anna about the absolute chaos that is university life. We chatted for a bit about whatever things 20-something year-old girls talk about before she got to the point.
“You busy tonight? There’s a cool club that opened up not too long ago downtown and a few of my friends wanna go. You should come with!”
I glanced around at the comfort of my apartment. I was a pretty quiet person who preferred to sit inside and read a good book, as opposed to my outgoing Anna who was always getting into heaps of trouble. It’s always the story, isn’t it? Opposites attract. As much as I wanted to stay in tonight, I smiled and agreed, much to Anna’s squealing delight. How can I deny a request from my best friend?
We set up plans and I hung up the phone. Then I remembered the other phone sitting on my couch, dejected. I picked it up and opened it to the owner’s mother’s contact information. That’s right! I punched the number into my own phone and hit “call.” I could at least call this way.
The phone rang for a few moments. I was about to leave a message when an exhausted voice came over the speakers.
“Yeah?”
I tried not to be put off by this rude response.
“Hi, um, my name is Amanda and I found this phone outside my apartment… I think it belongs to your daughter. Is there any way I could get it to her?”
The line was quiet for a moment, aside from some labored breathing. Then: “Do you think this shit is funny? Quit it with these stupid fucking pranks.”
I remained speechless for a few moments after she’d hung up on me. What the hell was her problem? Thoroughly confused, I rechecked the number. No, I had dialed the right number… well, whatever, I shrugged. I couldn’t make sense of it, but it wasn’t really my problem, either. Sooner or later someone was bound to call her and then I’d pick up and explain the situation to them. It would get resolved somehow.
I still had a few hours until I had to be at the club to meet Anna, so I settled down with The Good Earth and a bag of chips.
Just as I was getting deeply embedded into the story, a loud beeping startled me.
BEEP BEEP BEEP.
I looked around wildly, my eyes colliding with the lit screen of the white iPhone. Oh, that must be her ringtone. I looked at the Caller ID. “Restricted.”
I picked it up.
“Hello?”
Static.
“Hello…?”
The static was intense and only getting louder. I tried calling out a few more times, but no response. I was just starting to move the phone away from my ears due to the loudness of the static when –click.
Call Ended.
Huh. Must have been a mistake. Stupid phone, I was getting nowhere with this.
I went back to my book and spent a few peaceful hours reading. An hour before our meeting time, I grudgingly pulled a glitzy shirt on over my head – one that I had borrowed from Anna, of course – and paired it with some black booty shorts. I put on flats (no way was I wasting a night in high heels) and applied cherry red lipstick. I figured I had prepared as much as I wanted and was just about to head out the door when the phone rang again.
BEEP BEEP BEEP.
I grabbed the phone off the couch and stared at it. Restricted. What the fuck? I rolled my eyes and answered it one more time, just on the off-chance that someone was there.
“Hello?”
Nothing this time, absolutely no sound. It sounded like the line was dead. Seriously, what was the problem with this damn thing? Maybe I should just take it to the police station in the morning, let the cops deal with it…
“Can you hear me?”
I let out a little yelp. The woman’s voice had come in, loud and clear, patient and toneless. But it sounded… off. There was no other noise on the phone. I put the receiver next to my ear again, cautiously this time.
“Hello? Hey, do you know whose phone this is? I found it sitting outside and – “
Click.
Call ended.
By this point I was getting pissed. Was someone playing a fucking game with me? I tossed the phone back on the couch. Enough of this, I would deal with it when I got home. Or maybe I’d let Anna deal with it. She was better at this kind of stuff than I was.
With that thought in my head, I headed out the door and into the night.
The club was pretty fun. It turned out that Anna’s friends all happened to be guys, with one in the mix who was exactly my type: tall, with dark hair, forceful and confident, and a little controlling. I know, I know, I’m asking for trouble. But a little trouble is good once in a while. Plus, he and I hit it off right away. He sealed the deal when he took my phone, found my number and plugged it into his phone.
“I’m taking you out on Saturday. You better be ready at 8!”
I felt a thrill up my spine. Oh, hell yes, I would be.
I crashed at Anna’s place. We spent the rest of the night watchingshitty horror movies that we’d already seen a million times and making brownies. Well, actually, just the brownie batter, which we then ate raw. We passed out around 4AM and I went home around noon the next day – thank goodness I didn’t have any Friday classes.
It wasn’t until after I’d already showered and made myself some breakfast that I caught sight of the phone once again. I don’t know why, but just looking at it made me uncomfortable. I decided I’d bring it to the cops that day.
I was about to throw it in my purse when the screen lit up.
New message: one attachment.
I slid the phone open. The text was from a restricted number again. I shivered.
I opened the attachment.
It was a picture. A picture of…me. Taken from inside the club when I was talking to Mr. Bad Boy. It was a close picture, too, taken no more than a few feet away from me.
I dropped the phone to the floor. I could practically feel my face draining, a white pallor settling into my cheeks.
My heart was racing like mad, but my brain went into practical mode.
Now I knew I didn’t have the phone by accident. It was left outside of my apartment in hopes that I would find it. It made sense, didn’t it? That silly little flimsy case would never have protected the phone from the hard concrete.
So why did they want me to have it? Clearly they wanted to harass me. Ok, but for what reason? I thought back to my dad. He was a cop, maybe it was someone he’d pissed off? Although it seemed unlikely, as I was pretty far from my hometown. Had I pissed anyone off lately? I wracked my brain but came up empty. I didn’t have enough daily social interactions to piss anyone off, if I’m being honest.
But they had to know who I was. They’d followed me to the club, they’d taken my picture…and they’d sent the picture right when I picked up the phone.
Just as this thought registered, the phone went off again.
BEEP BEEP BEEP.
Restricted.
This time, there was no hesitation. I picked up the phone and said in a strong, angry voice, “Who the fuck is this? I don’t have time to play your fucking games. Do you think I’m scared of a shitstain like you?” The expletives continued to pour out of my mouth.
Silence.
“Are you there?”
That same, toneless, emotionless voice. Click. Call ended.
I’ll admit, I was pretty freaked out by this. I made the decision in a split second. I grabbed my backpack and filled it with a few necessities, grabbed both the phones, and ran out to my car. I jumped in, locking the door behind me, and sped off down the street, my eyes trained on the rearview mirror to ensure no one was following me.
I drove through town for a few hours, taking every turn that I could. In the meantime, I formulated a plan. Whoever this was, and whatever reason they had for doing this, I wasn’t going to be victim of this stupid prank anymore.
Once I was sure I wasn’t being followed, I pulled over and called Anna. I explained the situation to her over the phone and she agreed to let me stay at her place.
“I’ll help you catch this fucker,” she said.
About 20 minutes later, I arrived at her house. “Ok, let’s catch him.”
We sat in her living room and I took out my phone. If we were going to find out who this guy – or girl – was, we were going to need all the help we could get. And all that help consisted of this weird phone.
“Pictures,” tried Anna.
“Right.”
I clicked on the photo icon and started from the beginning.
